


we're scared of the same things

by gay_thot_writing



Series: archives shuffle [6]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: COPIOUS USE OF FOOD METAPHORS, Canon-Typical Identity Theft, M/M, Not!Martin Blackwood - Freeform, SHUSH LET ME BE A COOK IN PEACE, also, and its rly more of a notthem study lol, but in the worst way possible, but this time it actually has not!martin in it, but. fun times, food is the only love language actually, instead of just the concept of him, it/its pronouns, not!them - Freeform, this is another martin study but through his interactions with other people, yes another not!martin fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:48:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27361504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gay_thot_writing/pseuds/gay_thot_writing
Summary: When it crept out of the table, sharp and new and old, it was a beautiful thing. Its true form always was beautiful- blinding, blank white, eyes and mouths and arms carved into it like some painter had forgotten how the elbows worked in the middle of a painting.Before it was trapped in that horrid table, full of that cloying grey and white, those strings that whispered and bound and trapped and HELD- before it had been tricked, fooled, TRAPPED- it had been beautiful.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James, Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: archives shuffle [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1772722
Comments: 15
Kudos: 40





	we're scared of the same things

**Author's Note:**

> read the rest of the series. or dont im not ur boss. title from throw out by the original crooks and nannies

When it crept out of the table, sharp and new and old, it was a beautiful thing. Its true form always was beautiful- blinding, blank white, eyes and mouths and arms carved into it like some painter had forgotten how the elbows worked in the middle of a painting. 

Before it was trapped in that horrid table, full of that cloying grey and white, those strings that whispered and bound and trapped and HELD- before it had been tricked, fooled, TRAPPED- it had been beautiful. It had been in its true form much of the time, but it still took when it pleased. 

And it did please- taking and taking and taking, glutting itself on all the fear the humans that ran from it could offer. The table stole that from it, that ability to wander freely, beautiful and taking. 

But it felt some of that freedom now, creeping out of its prison, pulling in the red headed assistant- pulling in the Martin. His life was glorious, full of so much fear- much of it self-inflicted, which made it all the more delicious. It set the Martin where it had once lain in the table, as the pesky Archivist had far too many eyes already and would feel his absence were he killed. No matter- this way, it could feast on his fear and that of those who did not remember him. 

It ate their memories of the Martin. They were sweet and syrupy, and they stuck on its tongue. Its words were honeyed, spoken with Martin's tongue. It could keep him alive as long as it needed to to keep the Archivist from catching on. In the mean time, it would rewrite their relationships with him, eat up the incongruencies that scared them so. In the mean time, it would feast.

Some relationships were more fun to rewrite than others. From eating up all of their memories of him, it knew that they were all fond of him, but in very different ways.

The Tim loved him. It was a familiar flavor of love- it tasted exactly like how Nikola had said he felt about the one she took. It was delicious, sweet like milk chocolate. The love was gritty behind its teeth, but it savored the flavor as it bit off parts of it. 

Tim had loved Martin for his kindness, for his warmth. For the safety he felt around him. It was funny to be cold, polite in a way that only those who didn't care could be.

"Timothy." Its tone was clipped, terse, short. Tim jumped at his desk, looking up at it. For a second he looked confused. It reveled in the feeling.

"Just Tim is fine, Martin," he responded, smiling jovially. "Whattya got for me?"

"Ms. James asked we follow up on these statements," it answered coolly, gesturing to the files it held. "Which would you like?" It divided the stack into three, ensuring that the one closest to the Tim held the statement he was truly meant to discover- the one with just a hint of holiness, of perfectly right unrightness. It was certain that Tim was best suited for this one- his anger would lead him astray, burn him up from the inside. It couldn't wait to watch.

The Sasha loved him too. Her love was fierce, protective- it was refreshing, as well. She needed to keep him safe, like one would a little brother or a puppy. Her love tasted bright and fresh, like melon soda- it was delightful.

Sasha had loved Martin for his dependability, for the stability he represented. A cup of tea, a comforting hand on her shoulder, a kind smile. Wearing the skin it made them remember, it gave her a wide berth- employee-employer distance. It laughed to itself when she looked up, expecting Martin's kindness, only to get its false face in answer.

It had walked into the break room, knowing that the Sasha was in there. She had looked up when it walked in, smiling for a second before her eyes fogged and her expression returned to a neutral one. It nodded at her politely, turning to make itself one cup of tea.

"Ms. James," it greeted, not unkindly yet with no trace of warmth.

"Sasha, please," she answered, just like she had the last five times. It smiled brittlely. 

"Of course." It took its cup of tea, not offering to make her one, and left, nodding a polite goodbye. For a minute, it seemed like she was going to say something, but the door closed behind it and she shut her mouth wordlessly.

The most fun of all to torment, however, was the Jon.

He had loved the Martin so much, it was pathetic. And hilarious. His love was different from the others. It had their elements, of course- there was protectiveness in the way he had looked at Martin, longing for his kindness. Admiration. But there was more to it, something entirely different- something repressed, compressed, pushed down so hard it had turned into a diamond. The way it shone, sharp and sweet and tinged with bitterness, was like clove ice cream and oranges. It was absolutely delectable. 

The Jon had had something with the Martin. Something tenuous and young, something he had not let himself believe in. Something made entirely of potential. 

Destroying it was the most fun the thing that was not Martin had ever had.

"Hello, Jonathan," it hummed, sidling up next to him in file storage. He jumped nearly a foot in the air. It had to hold itself back from cackling.

"Martin," he responded, pretending he hadn't been surprised at all. He was the only one who had already stopped correcting it when it was overly formal, which was hilarious in its own right. "Was there something you needed?"

This was its favorite part. All of its affected coolness and detachedness was borrowed from the Jon's own mask, and he reacted so poorly when it threw it back in his face with just a tiny portion of flirtation beneath the surface. Torturing them was fun, but the Jon had lingering affection for the Martin, and wouldn't it be so delicious if it could get him to fall for this false self instead?

"Mm, nothing in particular. I dropped off a new set of statements on your desk for Ms. James, thought you would want to know. Oh, there was a spider one in your portion, I believe. Tim reacts poorly to those after the whole... Vittery incident, so I thought it better not to give it to him."

There! The Jon had flinched when it mentioned spiders. It had suspected the scrawny assistant was marked with her strings- it could recognize them now, after so long bound by them. It could get him to destroy the table, to free it, it was sure. He was impulsive and detested the Mother- as he well should. The Martin had good taste, it seemed. And the Mother was much worse at puppets than it was, anyways. 

"Alright. I will see you later, I suppose. Goodbye, Martin."

"Goodbye, Jonathan."

Like a knife glinting in the light, it smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> comments feed my eldritch fear god. find me on tumblr at r0sebutch


End file.
